


Cast aside your broken faith

by Wrathofscribbles



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Eventual Relationships, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-06
Updated: 2020-01-20
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:09:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22138348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wrathofscribbles/pseuds/Wrathofscribbles
Summary: And forge yourself a new path in ruin and decay
Relationships: Prompto Argentum/Noctis Lucis Caelum
Comments: 7
Kudos: 18





	1. Restless soul

**Author's Note:**

> **Big bold reminder that Final Fantasy XV and all of its content is property of Square Enix.** I just like to play in the sandpit they've created for the fans.
> 
> And here we have it! That AU I've been blethering about on twitter for ages, finally in the works! Take note this fic isn't marked as complete, as it's still a work in progress. I'm hoping to update it every two weeks, but given how often I chop and change ideas, that's subject to change. But! This will! Be completed! 'Tis my resolution for 2020!

He's been out of sorts for weeks. Or, well. Not out of sorts but... _restless_. Ever since his mother's passing. Uncertain of his place in the world - and that of their household, now that she's gone.

Will he be allowed to stay in their small home, bought for a family never meant to be? Will his father demand he leave with just the clothes on his back, no longer bound to care for the stray his wife loved so much? Will he be "encouraged" to inquire about student accommodation when the new college year begins? Does he even _want_ to go to college for another year, entertain his father's lectures on what classes to take, the courses to study, as if he's ever given a single damn before now?

At the very least he'll need another job during the summer break, as decent paying as he can find. And _then_ he'll have the hassle of arguing with his boss about his hours and his pay, with no guarantee he'll be shifted to part-time to accomodate the demands on a student's limited free time. He can't be outright sacked on the spot, sure, but he's heard of the occasional demon boss making life so damn difficult for an employee they chuck in the towel one evening and phone the following morning saying they've quit. It's bound to happen to him, such is the sorry state of his luck.

Another month of scrimping and saving for something, or nothing, or some leisure time at the arcade just to escape an empty house with skeletons in every closet and the memory of his mother in the wallpaper and decor. Empty... even before her death, if he stops to think about it.

Another month of pointless hobbies and caring for dying house plants, and for what? What benefits are there to pretending he's welcome any longer, or ever _was?_ He calls his father, anyway, one last ditch effort at convincing his brain it's plan is A Bad One.

_"This is Mikael. Apologies for missing your call, please leave a message after the tone and I'll get back to you at the earliest convenience."_

Nah. It's a good one and he knows it. Of the two his mother had been the most attentive and even _then_ she was gone most of the week, every week. There's no point in staying, is there?

So it is that Prompto finds himself in the hallway, hand against his parents' bedroom door, steeling himself for a choice he can't come back from.

Maybe he can't continue the Argentum bloodline - he's not part of it in the first place - but he _can_ continue their legacy. _Her_ legacy, Quicksilver, the best markswoman the Insomnian hunters had seen in decades.

It's not like her firearms will be missed, anyway. She had to leave that life behind her when she married.

* * *

He's stopped only once, at the gates. The guards there are meant to keep people _out_ until they pass fuck knows how many checks (including one for Niflheim bugs, but that's a fact kept hush hush, not like anyway can peer through the Wall and _see_ the scars of war on the land anyway, royal idiots), not keep anyone _in_.

"Where are you goin', kid?"

"Photo ops, man. Class project. Figured I'd take shots of stuff other than Insomnia's nightlife, y'know?"

And just like that, a passing curiosity sated, he's allowed to go. No ID check, no bag check, hell the guy doesn't even chance a glance under his cap.

Just like that he's free to do as he pleases, the world his oyster, or however that saying goes.

He hesitates, just once... but he doesn't look back.


	2. Where did you go wrong?

**11 years ago**

She knows when Morrigan returns, the signs are impossible to miss. An unnatural quiet settles on the caverns as if nature itself fears the creature she has become. No steady drip of water, no sighing wind sending whispers of the world beyond to her ears. Even their fellow daemons fall still and quiet, retreat to the shadows they spawn from. The spiderlings, too, despite _her_ command over them. It isn't long before even she can hear the approach in this graveyard of broken souls, the muted scuff of scales on stone and the clack of nails on the walls.

Five more of her heartbeats. Ten. And then a pair of vicious red eyes appear in the gloom, so high as to almost brush the cavern top, the "ceiling" of this new home. A shiver works through her spine, an instinctual reaction she can't yet stifle, and then the _rest_ of Morrigan slowly winds into view, truly a creature to fear, a force to be reckoned with and still, inexplicably, her loyal friend and guard.

Perhaps, when Noctis awakens, she will tell him they were given forms better suited to their selves, their _souls_.

_"By who?"_ he'll likely ask, and to that... she has no answer. It isn't safe to speak ill of the gods, damned and despicable though they may be.

"He sleeps still?" Morrigan asks, tongue catching on sharp teeth and drawing her query out on a hiss. A pointless question when the answer rests in the bed they have made for her boy, the blankets she has stolen for him. Even so, she answers, carding her fingers through his hair as gently as she can, loathe to disturb him.

"The last few weeks have been traumatic for him, the past few days particularly so. His mind shields itself however it can, I think."

"And how - how fares his back?"

Serpents fall over her shoulder as Morrigan leans closer, arms supporting her bulk and muscles pulling taut with the strain. So deadly, this being, so _vicious_ , and yet...

Dozens of eyes peer down at her son, Morrigan's breath warm on her cheek and neck. She can almost trick herself into believing all this a dream, a rogue nightmare swept away as she reads Noctis to sleep and her friend stands guard -

But this is no place for fairy tales. Not anymore.

"The bleeding has stopped and I've fashioned something of a dressing for his wounds, in lieu of adequate medical care. I believe he'll heal without permanent injury, though scarring I cannot say."

Regret, then, in the lower tones as Morrigan speaks again, retreating into herself until she is but a wall of flesh and strength just barely contained, ready to strike at a moment's notice. "He will fear me."

"He might, he might not. A child's mind is a mysterious thing. I will explain this situation to him the best I can when he awakens and after that... we shall see."

Unspoken is the apology but she knows it's there, down to her bones and in her heart. How can she doubt its presence, when Morrigan had gone out to rescue her son and come back in panic, his tiny body cradled in arms bloodied and beaten and shielding him from further harm? How can she possibly doubt Morrigan now when she has been a steady presence by her side for years, a guard and guide and friend? How can she doubt her love for Noctis when she agreed to this plan knowing full well it was no plan at all, just a mother's desperation to save her son?

_Yes, we shall see. Rest now, my darling, and may you know only peace in your dreams._

* * *

The spiderlings are eager to do her bidding, she who gives them form and purpose. It makes her skin crawl even as it's something of a necessity. She cannot venture where she sends them, not yet, it isn't safe. Not with Noctis to care for, and her husband out there looking for him.

His father, looking for their son. As if he has any right to worry for him _now_ when he means to sacrifice him _later._

Does her command make her like him? Is she a queen now as he was the king she willingly, foolishly married?

Does he regret the death of his Glaives as she does the daemons who fell them, who die in turn at the blade of comrade and foe? Does war weigh heavy in his heart? Is that why he's willing to sacrifice Noctis so? One life lost, to save the many?

_His reasons don't matter, Aulea,_ one of the spiderlings chitters, an echo of her own thoughts (an echo of _her_ in reality, but she hasn't had time to wrap her head around such insanity yet), all eight legs tip-tapping a pattern her fingers used to before -

Well. _Before_.

No, the reasons don't matter. They will _never_ matter. She will spit in the face of the Lucian god and set Regis's throne on fire for their "reasons". They will not harm her son. They will not _kill_ him. She won't allow it.

And when her little daemons return she will feel guilt for the blood they've spilt and the lives they've stolen and the souls they've brought into this corruption. But, ultimately, it will not matter, for these are the consequences of her choice and this is the game that must be played in order to care for Noctis. A human, still, she can smell it on his skin and hear it in the fast _tha-thump_ of his little rabbit heart. Prey in the midst of predators and his body knows it, perhaps in time will learn to disregard it.

She peels away the webbing spread across his wounds and sets to cleaning them once again, humming a lullaby when he moans in his slumber, restless and pained and squirming.

It does little to soothe him.


End file.
